Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Boogers, Balls of fire, and Texting

If you were a booger, I’d pick you first J

The confusion and shock your feeling?  That was my reaction too. Though I may have been more confused, seeing as the comment and picture were randomly sent to my phone from an unknown number. You know who this is from, at least.
What do yo do when you get texts from random numbers? You ask who it is of course. The other person tells you who it is, which is when you get super excited because it's your long lost friend ---- !!
Instead, I get this genius.
Its me???!!! :/
Umm, yeah. If I don’t know who you are the first time, this does little to help.
I text: And who is me supposed to be?
How soon you forget me.... L
Wow, thanks bud. Not only do you feel the need to express your emotions through smiley faces, you are also, apparently incapable of realizing when someone obviously doesn’t know who you are. Seriously, why are people so difficult?
I cut to the chase, not keen on playing this stupid texting game (which is probably meant as a flirtatious overture): I don’t know who this is. Either tell me who this is or stop texting me.
His brilliant response?
Dont be mean to me. :S
Again with the evasiveness! We could avoid all this if you would tell me who you are.
Me, being a girl with infinite patience, turned my text alert off and ignored the eight following messages sent to me. In case you’re wondering, yes every one of them had some sort of smiley face and it wasn’t until number seven that he said: its me, Ted. ;)
The eighth, he finally admits he thinks he has the wrong number.
Umm. Yeah. If you had used your brain Ted, you would have realized this sooner. People like Ted make me worry about the future of humanity. They really do.
I’m changing the subject, but not really because I still plan on talking about text messages, just not about Ted.
This morning driving to my chemistry final I notice the car making strange clunking sounds. The vehicles shaking oddly and I feel the undercarriage rumble ferociously under my feet.
The car’s going to explode. I know it. I pull over and call my mom. I express my fears: the car is going to blow up on my way to school and I’m going to die. She tells me I won’t, that I’ll be fine, Sister drove the car back from Whistler and she didn’t die. I explain that Sister drove on the car’s final legs, saving the death for me. Sister’s good at sharing like that. I inform Mom that if I do die, I will haunt her because my death will be her fault. Mom, calms me down from my hypochondriac (except, it’s not the illnesses trying to kill me, it’s the world) panic attack so I’m free to drive to school with a relatively calm mind. (I say relatively because I’m always thinking about how the worlds trying to kill me...).
Here is the text conversation that followed forty minutes later.
Mom: Are you safe and sound?
Me: Definetely not. I went up in a great ball of fire. It was very painful. My ghost shall now haunt you forever.
Mom: Your cell is amazing to survive a call(car) me(on) fire. You must be a strong ghost to be able to text.
Me: Yeah. Death isn’t as bad as it seems. I guess, My cell, like me, has moved to the other side. But since I died with vengeance on my mind I was granted a tool to haunt you with. See? It’s all about balance. At least you know I don’t have to take my chemistry test! Oh shoot! We never got batteries!!! Ahhhhh. I’m so glad I’m dead right now. [The batteries were for my scientific calculator]
Mom: Oh crap. At least you have your phone! Being a ghost didn’t ruin your humour. That is good.
This was one of my mom’s better texting days. Usually there are many, many spelling mistakes. She says T9 is out to get her. I think, she’s crazy.

I have to get it somewhere.
Isn't text messaging grand?

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Apples and Potatoes

(Picture from here)

The mysterious, ever illustrious they always say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And, readers, I think I’m starting to buy into their propaganda.
Today after my English final (harder than I thought, though I love my essay topic – how people cope when faced with their mortality. In short in the essay there’s necrophilia and vigilante superheroes, you can’t get much more intense than that) I went home, did a bunch of boring things then went to my grandparents.
My grandma broke her elbow two weeks ago and had to have surgery, so she needs help with things like filing her nails and washing her hair. Anyways, so I was just going to file her nails and help her wash her hair but my Uncle B came over to make my grandparents supper. We end up staying.
Now my Uncle B has a talent for saying uncomfortable things at the perfect moment and his humour is fairly dry. So is mine. I also have traits from my grandmother (brutal honesty). And even a bit of the Absentminded Professor from my grandfather.
But the real reason for this post comes after dinner, when my mother and I went to the supermarket after supper.
We go through the store, grabbing trail mix and Eggo’s and other random bits for our trip to Whistler this weekend. My mom laughs because whenever I grab the boxes I grab the one hidden behind the first. It’s something she does and never thinks about. Neither do I.
After a rather mundane shopping trip, we take the gaudy yellow cart to the car and I hold said cart while my mother unloads the bags. A giant cooler sits in the middle of the trunk; loading is a little slower than usual. There’s also a pile of leftovers, for Sister, sitting in the one corner.
A lady honks her horn, startling me. I drop the grocery bag I’m holding into the trunk. I glare, grumbling about rude people, as I move the gaudy cart out of the way. It’s blocking a section of the parking space beside me. I would feel bad, if, you know, the parking lot had more than three cars in it. There’s ample parking and she just has to pick the one beside our car, that’s blocked because I’m trying to help my mom get everything settled, so we can leave (we both really had to pee!).
I mean, why can’t she pick somewhere else?
My mom comments on the multitude of spots available and I pick up the dropped grocery bag. Oh shit. When I dropped the bag, it knocked over the pile of leftovers, dislodged the lid on the mashed potatoes and corn and now there’s mashed potatoes and corn all over that corner of the trunk. The potatoes are mashed into the carpet since the bag was lying on them.
I apologize, feeling bad, because my mom is upset. Meanwhile, Lady in the silver truck parks.
My mom grabs a handful of the potatoes and corn, looks at it for a moment, and then chucks it at Lady’s truck. The potatoes make a wonderful splashing sound upon impact and coat the back wheel with gunk (that was, quite honestly, delicious).
I stare. My mind not really comprehending the childish behaviour, as if to assure me it had happened, my mom does it again. And again. And again. She’s laughing and I find that I am too.
“That’s not the kind of reaction you should have when someone annoys you.” Mom says, all serious, until she starts laughing again.
So that’s where I get it. My mom. All those random fits of immaturity, that are oh so satisfying. Pretty much, my mom with her projectile potatoes is saying: don’t mess with my kids.
Lady in truck leaves said truck. She glares at me as she walks by. She hasn’t noticed the potatoes and corn splashed on her truck. I smile back, because she’ll find the mess later.
My mom says after, regarding her outburst, “I know I shouldn’t have done that. But if you think about, the potatoes would never have been spilt in my car if she hadn’t have honked. So really, it’s her fault anyway.”
And there’s how I rationalize my actions too. Oh mother, the life lessons you teach me...

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

My Cat Is Defective - In The Nicest Way

Back in December my sister rescued an eight month old Birman cat that was being abused by two kids – pushing and pulling her. They were so cruel the cat ran into the wild and it took months for her to be caught. Some may call this stealing, since, you know, the owners think their cat was eaten by a coyote. But the kids were horrible and horrible kids only get coal. Parents teach us this at a young age, so....
I feel no remorse.
Anyway, so we got this cat. Since Sister was hailed as The Saviour, she got the honour of naming the new addition to our family. After vetoing such jewels as Cat, Baileys, Rock, and It she settled on Sidewalk. That’s right.
Your aren’t suddenly dyslexic and reading this wrong. She really named the cat Sidewalk. After several days of the...unmitigated genius of that, Sister decided to shorten Sidewalk to Mia. How Mia is the short way of saying Sidewalk, I'm uncertain. I am, however, thankful.  
Sidewalk was really only funny for an hour.
Mia Sidewalk (her official name) is not a normal cat. And just in case you’re sitting there, wallowing in disbelief, I will offer you evidence, with pictures (when applicable) of the eight reasons why she is superior to other cats.
First: She's bipolar (and crazy!). One second she's all I love you, and cuddling and purring like it's a competitive sport. Then, suddenly, she snaps and goes all attack (half-the time she's still purring at this stage....probably because being vicious makes her happy - I do understand this). ]

This is her attack face. Are you frightened?

During psycho stage, she bites really hard. She will also rip around the house jumping over furniture and flying across wood flooring. It's intense. And loud (that thing about cats being light on their feet? Yeah, it's a lie). She also does these crazy high flying leaps, like an Olympian. No joke.

One second she's gnawing on your hand, the next, she's licking it again, purring and totally ready for a several hour nap.

Second: she makes friends with other animals she's wired to hate. Meaning, my dog. They play fight all the time: he pins her and bites, she bites and scratches. They sneak up on each other and go crazy, but never actually try to hurt the other. Tye (my dog) chases her up trees, which is very amusing. He'll jump up the tree and bite at her butt if she's too low. Also, once, he figured out she needs to back all the way down the tree, and he can knock her off when she gets low enough... she didn't like that too much.

And yet, while they play, the truly strange thing is that they cuddle. Also, he's locked outside all day and when he get's let in every afternoon, she gets really excited and they animal kiss (with their noses). They greet each other like best friends who haven't seen each other in days (instead of only hours). It's, honestly, very sweet.


Third: she actually enjoys her bath. The other day she allowed herself to float in the water. Float. Now how many ingrained biological instincts is that going against? I couldn't snap a picture of her floating (she knew I wanted one and was being difficult).

Note, however, the utter lack of claws.

And how sweet she looks walking around in the tub, and not trying to escape. You can see all the shampoo floating around! Yikes. But she's really soft after. I bathe her every week so to prevent me dying of allergies. [yes, I am allergic to my cat, but only her saliva so as long as she's bathed I'm fine]

Fourth: The simplest things amuse her. Fingers under blankets, fingers in general, string, anything really. She also has the toy racoon she goes psycho over. But I've never seen her so excited than when there's a bbox lying around. She twists and turns and curls in it, both using it as a complex plaything (how, I don't know, but she sees it) and as a sleeping cubby.

Fifth: she's a thief. Nothing is safe, not hairties, bobby pins, pens, or makeup brushes. Everything is fair game and she will take it and hide it all. She also tries to steal my laptop. Try being the operative word. She does a magnificent job of chewing at the corners and lying on the keypad when I'm typing because she wants it. So far, I'm still winning this one.

Sixth: she's clever. Dangerously so. I could go on about how smart she is but I'll just give you one example: she was locked in my room and was scratching at the door. She was annoyed it wouldn't open and I refused to acknowledge her cries. She stretched up and tried twice to pull at the handle of my door (she's seen me do it many times). She suceeded. Mia opened the door by using the handle. Blows your mind, doesn't it? 

Seven: her favorite food is Cheese Whiz. She goes crazy for that yellow, smooth, goodness.

Eight: she never shuts up. I've never seen a cat who talked so much. She meows constantly. Everyday she meows at me to clean her litter. She wakes me up everyday by meowing at me, her face centimeters from mine (this happens periodically throughout the night as well). She meows when I have to go to school, or out with my friends. She meows when I'm gone (which annoys my mom). She meows when she wants to play and when she wants more attention. She also meows for the hell of it. I know all of this because they all sound different.

If you hadn't noticed, I'm so one of those crazy cat ladies. This post is very long. If you didn't finish it. Well, your loss. My cat is fantastic. This should be very obvious. She's also crazy, but that's why I love her so much.

Anybody out there got any pets they love?